


Senses

by BottledUpWishes



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottledUpWishes/pseuds/BottledUpWishes
Summary: Before Goro Akechi met someone with everything he dreamt of, before he developed a vendetta against Masayoshi Shido - before that, what was he?  The son of a woman whose very own identity remained a mystery from the public.  Living a comfortable life together - or as together as they could manage.  Were they happy?  Or simply making do with what they had?





	1. Sensitive to...

**Author's Note:**

> im going to fight atlus

As used to travelling Mementos alone as Akechi – 'Crow', is, travelling in a group continuously proves to be a big pain in the neck.

 

Sure, Mona's bus form makes things more convenient, but being surrounded by an extra eight people? Oh boy.

 

Especially after half of them got hit by a killer case of dormina. Even Joker, the Phantom Thieves' ever-so-competent leader, finds himself having to take a break from driving Mona and relax for once. He hadn't been made a victim of the attack, but he had the worst habit of summoning a supportive Persona and using up his energy remedying the rest of them. Queen drives in his place, unaffected and undeterred.

 

Personally, Crow doesn't find it hard to fight off the lingering drowsiness, but pushing himself doesn't prove anything.

 

He glances in Joker's direction, hearing him turning pages of a hardcover book. It figures he's the type that can manage to digest literature despite recuperating from an attack. Come to think of it, he always did that. Whenever he doesn't steer Mona, Joker never fails to pull out a novel to read. Always different each time. No matter how exhausted he got. The textbook definition of a bookworm.

 

“What's the novel this time, Joker?” He asks on impulse, his polite tone on autopilot.

 

Calm grey eyes peer through a stark-white mask. Joker marks his spot, extending the book to Crow.

 

Crow reaches out for it without thinking. No normal person second-guesses taking a book. But he just had to notice the cover at the last second. The pages' edges are green, the bookmark a golden ribbon Joker leaves dangling out the top. Elaborate swirls border the jacket. The cover features a girl perched in a large bird cage, caressing a raven.

 

“Huh...” Crow pulls his hand back. “That's... _Touching Air_. I see.” He fights the lump in his throat with a smile. “That's the final installment to _Verstand_.”

 

Joker quirks an eyebrow. “You've read it?”

 

“The previous four, yes. I can't say I... ever bothered with its final one, given its peculiar state.”

 

“ _Verstand_... I feel I've heard it.” Fox moves closer, keen eyes analysing every detail of the cover. He makes a faint smile and nods. “That's right. I briefly studied it in my youth. A mystery series inspired by Lairesse's piece to the five senses. I never read them in their entirety, but it's clear to see which each book focuses on simply by the title and cover illustration.”

 

That about covers it. Having Fox to wax lyrical about every little thing that was so much scribbled on with pencil has it perks. It saves Crow the trouble of any explanation.

 

But. Still.

 

Crow has to know. “No one told you about Touching Air's condition, Joker?”

 

“I just bought it at a used bookstore. Something wrong with it?”

 

“Quality-wise, I suppose not.” He hates elaborating every detail, but the focus on him makes up for it. Knowing meaningless tidbits also has its perks. “Although it was published, the final book is – ironically – unfinished. I'm sure you've noticed inconsistencies with the author's usual writing and this one. It was published, untouched by editors, and without ever reaching an end.”

 

Panther makes a face and crosses her arms. “Why publish it if isn't finished?”

 

“I think I can guess.” Queen closes her eyes. A habit of hers whenever she muses over something. Crow wonders if she's ever noticed. “It was published about three years ago, wasn't it? If it's the case I'm thinking of, then the author disappeared before finishing it.

 

Noir nods. “Her colleagues published it. My father liked it quite a lot before he changed. I remember him buying a first edition of all of them. The first four had autographs, but the last one...”

 

From the back, Skull snorts and swings his arm over the seat. “Still, why publish it if ain't done? I'd be pissed off if I bought somethin' unfinished. 'Specially a book.”

 

That requires him to have the capacity to read more than two sentences via IM.

 

Hmm, best not to say that aloud. Better stick to the topic at hand. “The talented author Satoko Kasai disappeared without a trace. Which is just as well – given no one knew what she looked like to begin with.” He smiles, laughing at the irony of it. “She stole the hearts of countless bibliophiles and then lived her own life unseen. She was her own brand of Phantom Thief, you could say.”

 

“It's... kind of sad she never finished it.” Panther frowns and sinks into the seat. “I wonder what happened.”

 

Beneath the weights on his chest, Crow smiles. It hurts, but the irony of it all gets the better of him. “I'm afraid even an Ace Detective such as I can't solve that one. As much as I liked the books, I never met her.”

 

That's right. Satoko Kasai, he never met. Not once. Not ever. He never had the chance to. She was an enigma. One locked away in a small, dim study cut off from the world. The person outside the study, however, he knew. Satoko Kasai left that study, becoming someone different. Someone he knew like the back of his hand and vice versa.

 

And that woman never simply 'disappeared'. She died. Abruptly. Without warning.

 

Satoko Kasai he had no interest in. And Satoko Kasai shut him out of her life for hours upon hours. The study – forbidden territory. Its own dimension in a small home she just happened to share with Goro Akechi and-

 

Crow glances out the window, distancing himself from the conversation. It helps the Phantom Thieves switch topics at rapidfire speed. He doesn't have to worry about letting anything that isn't their business slip from his usually trained mouth.

 

Satoko Kasai disappeared. The woman she was outside the study died – two very different women.

 

It really made for the perfect case if you weren't Goro Akechi.

 


	2. Taste

Mornings always started the same. Wake up an hour before school began – he lived close enough. Head downstairs past a locked up study and closed-off bedroom. In the empty dining room, a box of CalorieMate and water bottle greeted him. He'd take them and be on his way.

 

But he smelled something descending the stairs this morning. He smelled food. Honest to god food. And walking past the study and bedroom, neither door was shut.

 

_I'm dreaming._

 

He peered over the stairwell, focusing right on the dining table. On it, two bowls with oyokodon and two glasses of juice. Standing next to the table – a woman with soft features and warm brown eyes.

 

“Mother?”

 

She nodded, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “It's not much, but I figured with the novel being finished, I could sacrifice a bit of time to make breakfast for once.”

 

 _She finished writing that soon?_ Usually it took _months_ for her to get a rough draft started. This took two.

 

For a moment, Akechi stared at her. Stared at her while walking down the last few steps. Stared at her approaching the table. Stared at her when he sat down. Waiting for the woman in front of him to reveal herself an impostor, or maybe wake up from a last-minute dream. But she never removed a mask, nor faded away. She sat there, smiling and taking small bites of the fresh-made meal. Not that that proved this to be reality.

 

He felt the meal's heat crawl around his chin. Warm. Real? He mixed it around, hearing chopsticks clink against the bowl. Naturally, it did nothing to determine whether or not he was dreaming. If he bit into it and tasted nothing, surely he was asleep.

 

He bit straight into it. The heat filled his mouth and cleared his nose. Meanwhile the food itself stung his lips and tongue. Through clenched teeth, he swallowed hard, and chased the sting down with juice. He swore the steam blew from his ears. His nose, though... his nose suffered the most. And amount of juice helped.

 

“You saw me blow on it, Goro.” His mother shook her head, laughing. “Not to mention it's freshly made.”  
  


Akechi waited for the burn to subside. He cleared his throat, fighting off a grimace. He gulped down another round of juice, and sighed in relief when the worst of it subsided.

 

“Mother...” He cleared his throat again. “This _is_ oyakodon, right?”

 

“Of course.” Her smiled widened. “Although, when I tried it, it tasted a little bland, so I added some sauce to it.”

 

“...what sort of sauce?”

 

“A bit of wasabi.”

 

 _Wasabi_.

 

This early in the morning. They rarely ate meals together, so he couldn't blame her for not knowing him and anything even remotely spicy didn't mix, but still. _Still_. _This_ early in the morning.

 

His mother tilted her head. Those deep brown eyes of hers pried right into Akechi. “Don't like it?”

 

“It's a little strong, but...” Akechi smiled. “It's good. I just didn't expect it.” This time, he blew on the next bite, and it went down much easier. “And I'm definitely awake.”

 

Opening his eyes, the clock ticked away in his peripheral vision. Awake, and on the _cusp_ of being late. He ate Calorie Mades on-the-go bottled water at hand. An unforeseen full-fledged breakfast with his mother, simple as it'd been, proved time-consuming.

 

Should he wake up earlier from now on?

 

He laughed to himself, taking another bite. _I doubt this'll be a regular thing._

 

Then... maybe he could afford being late, just this once. He didn't know about savouring the moment, but... he definitely didn't want to rush it. Especially when his mother ate at her own pace. Even _she_ didn't rush through it – a rarity for her. Like, SSR rare.

 

“So how's school?”

 

It felt... foreign. “Oh... it's pretty much the same thing every day.” Maybe that was the wrong answer? Every moody teenager on those dramas gave similar answers. He bit his lip, stirring the food around some. “Actually, there's an essay contest some teachers want me to enter.”

 

His mother perked up. “Oh? On what?”

 

Akechi sighed. “It's pretty broad, that's why I've been debating it.”

 

According to teachers, the essay had surprising freedom. How that made things fair, he didn't know. He just knew the essay simply wanted contestants to write an analysis of sorts over a character of picaresque fiction. With the timing, he felt his mother's recent novel had some influence on the topic. People always wanted something to capitalise on.

 

“That shouldn't be too hard, I don't see you reading a lot on those sorts of characters.”

 

“True, but, I don't find them that interesting. That's the problem.”

 

“Well, if you do decide to enter, when all else fails, default to Robin Hood. Thief of the rich, giver of the poor.”

 

Sure, he read a few books on him via his mother's suggestion, but writing about it?

 

“I'll think about it.” It wasn't like anyone told him what the prize or whatever was in the first place.

 

A comfortable silence settled upon them. No obligation to keep talking. Just a calm, normal breakfast.

 

_Knock knock._

 

His mother paused mid-bite. Lowering her chopsticks, she turned to the door. Her shoulders slumped, but she took a deep breath and stood up, looking at the clock.

 

“Goro, you'll be late at this rate, right?” Her warm words sounded tight. “Sorry, I'll make sure to let you know the next time I make something so you can wake up earlier, alright?”

 

_Knock knock._

 

She moved towards the door. “It's probably that older neighbour of ours.” She smiled and shook her head. “You should go through the back door, okay? You know how talkative she gets when it comes to you.”

 

He knew her too well to believe that. “Is something wrong?”

 

“No, it's just... sometimes she's exhausting to talk to. That's all. It'd look bad to ignore the elderly, though. Go on, you'll be late enough already.”

 

He felt for his bag, never looking away from his mother's stiff back. Her hand waved him a quick, absent goodbye, but she didn't budge from the table.

 

She wouldn't, not until he left from the back. Akechi could tell.

 

Backing her into a corner wouldn't help the soured mood. He tried lingering in the house, listening for the door to open and his mother to speak to the guest. But... nothing. She wouldn't do a thing till that door closed behind him. And nothing made him feel worse than considering faking it and just standing in the hall. His mother wasn't that gullible anyway.

 

He tightened his grip around the suitcase, and left through the back door.

 


	3. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> do u love to suffer. i do.

By the time he informed his mother of the essay contest, Akechi entered it just a few weeks shy of the cut-off date. The fact he won was nothing short of a miracle.

 

Still, that didn't stop him from feeling pride swell in his chest. It felt light, and warm. And followed him all the way into his house. He made a beeline for the study, its doors closed. Light peeked underneath, not that he needed to see it to know she was in there.

 

He didn't even have to knock this time, surprisingly.

 

“Come on in, Goro.”

 

He opened the doors to a modest study. With proper care, it'd be rather spacious. But between books and papers sprawled around on a small couch, some peeking from a blanket on it, it hardly seemed the place one wanted to work in. But, to his mother, it was paradise. Her eyes stayed glued to her notebook, jotting down whatever came to mind.

 

With his arms full, Akechi placed his notebook on the counter, next to his mother's red one, and left his suitcase on the floor. He rummaged through his coat pocket, and waved a purple museum ticket in front of his mother.

 

“Guess who won?”

 

“Hmm?” His mother tore herself from her notebook. Noticing the ticket, her eyes brightened, and that pleasant smile of hers returned. “Well look at that. Are those tickets to Ueno's Museum?”

 

“They were the ever-so-secret prize.” Not that Akechi was complaining. He heard plenty of great things about the museum, especially with Ichiryusai Madarame's _Sayuri_ taking centre stage again and again. “One for me and a guest.”

 

She lifted her notebook and lightly tapped it on Akechi's head. “Goro, you've outdone yourself. Essays aren't easy. Especially in contests.”

 

The praise prompted a slight blush to Akechi's cheeks. “It... it was worth it.”

 

“So?” His mother leaned back in the revolving chair. “Who's the lucky guest? A classmate? Crush?”

 

“I was thinking it could just be us. Nice and simple.”

 

She should smile.

 

But she didn't.

 

Her smile fell, and she straightened up, pulling the chair closer to her desk. “Goro...”

 

He knew what was coming, but he buried the disappointment tugging his heart down. “What's the matter?”

 

“It's just... I'm sorry, I'm busy with a short story some magazine wants me to publish. I know I just finished the novel, but until sales increase... you know how this goes.”

 

Akechi kept the tickets in sight. “The tickets last till the end of the month. I don't mind waiting.”

 

His mother laughed. Airy. Disjointed. “Don't hold your breath on my behalf.” She reached out, aiming for the nose. “Otherwise you'll suffocate.”

 

He recoiled, already scrunching up his nose. But her hand caught it before he escaped, lightly pinching down and tugging away. Without fail, she always made him wonder if she viewed him as fourteen years or fourteen months old. Her fond smile made it hard to tell.

 

“Most normal parents wouldn't let their middle school child go to a museum alone.”

 

His mother closed her notebook and turned her laptop on. “Most normal parents don't have a middle school child as _smart_ as mine.” She leaned back in the chair. “Goro, believe me, you'll be fine on your own. It's a museum, which is just like a mystery novel. You don't want anyone around to impose their own interpretations on you.”

 

Akechi bit his lip. She made sense, in her own way. Just like always. But... even if she made sense, that didn't mean she was _right_.

 

Right?

 

“So you can't come? Not even for a bit?”

 

Her lips stayed in a straight line. “I'm on a strict deadline with this short story. I can't run around procrastinating.” She put an elbow on the desk, rubbing her eyes with a groan. “I'm sorry. I'm stuck as Satoko Kasai today.”

 

Fighting a frown, Akechi nodded without debate, and left 'Satoko Kasai' alone.

 

Standing outside the study, Akechi studied the museum tickets. He got these. And he worked hard for them. A middle school student writing a contest-winning essay? That didn't happen often. But he did it. And his reward: tickets for leisurely activities.

 

They weren't dirt poor, given 'Satoko Kasai's' success, but even then, they weren't rich. They barely passed for middle class. His mother's parents never visited. Never spoke to them. None of her relatives did – if she had any. Wasn't like she ever spoke of them. It was just the two of them, in a small community. Lucky enough to afford living in a drafty, small house.

 

“ _We're lucky, so we'll make do.”_

 

How many times did he hear her say that?

 

Even when they found out they couldn;t open one of the kitchen drawers without opening the oven door.

 

“ _We're lucky to even have one in here, so it'll do.”_

 

Even when she kept getting more and more meager jobs for short stories between her novels.

 

“ _I'm lucky, so I'll take it.”_

 

Today, _he_ was lucky, wasn't he? A great amount of luck went into winning an essay contest.

 

So... why didn't she want to 'make do' with a lucky break at getting two expensive museum tickets?

 

No. No, he couldn't think like that. It wasn't the first time. Things like the house and food were fine. But. Out in public together. She always rejected the idea. She did her shopping whenever Akechi slept or went to school. He buried himself in studies and opportunities to enjoy the city in small ounces.

 

He never had a reason to expect her to agree to the museum. Not even 'luck' changed her mind. Especially as Satoko Kasai.

 

“So going to the museum alone would be better, huh?” Akechi smiled. Maybe so, but, regrettably, he never wrote a whole essay to go alone.

 

He stuffed the tickets into the red notebook, heading upstairs with heavy feet. He would not be seeing pieces of art for a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The detail about a drawer not opening unless the over was opened is a legit thing happening to me in my flat rn http://konzendoji.tumblr.com/private/162095054939/tumblr_orwxnoKz6H1r607gg


	4. Sound

Akechi wasted no time getting home. Riding a bike, on a humid Sunday, with a small grocery bag in tow, wasn't ideal. But with his mother already working on her next draft, and the fridge scarcely filled, he had to get something from the convenience store. Plenty of fresh food to get, very little space to carry it in on a bike.

 

And by the time he gets back to his home, the only thing different is his mother's study door being wide open.

 

He left the bag on the floor, overhearing rustling and low curses. In the study, his mother, pale and tense, tore the entire study apart.

 

His mother raked a hand through her hair, teeth gritted at the mess she made. _“It’s not here.”_

  
  


Akechi kept his distance outside the study. He had his doubts she even noticed him enter, but he skipped announcing himself. “What isn’t?”

  
  


“Where did I put it?” His mother rummaged through disorganised drawers. Tossed a jacket and blanket around. Shifted every book in sight, shoving them away.

  
  


When she returned to her desk, she slumped in her chair. “Don’t tell me…”

  
  


Akechi noticed a blue notebook on her desk. Multiple bold-coloured tabs stuck out the edges, and a frog charm dangled from its spiral.

  
  


_Since when did she…_

  
  


He bit his lip. “Did, did you misplace your notebook?”

  
  


“Huh?” His mother looked to him with clouded, hard eyes. “You’re not at school?”

  
  


… _it's Sunday_.

  
  


Akechi scanned the room. Although by now, finding anything would be nigh impossible. “So… How long’s it been missing?”

  
  


She tapped her fingers in the desk. “I only noticed this morning. But this...” She lifted the book, waving it around. “Isn’t mine.”

  
  


“Do you know who it-”

  
  


“Not a clue.” She tossed it back on her desk and pushed away from it on her chair. “This is just my luck.”

  
  


It’d been a hot minute since the last time Akechi heard his mother speak like that. And every time, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fresh bitterness in it. Fresh, and plentiful - a leaky tap that someone turned full-power.

  
  


The last time he heard it…

  
  


He heard his mother fuss with the notebook again, shut his eyes when she smacked it back on the table, biting the memory back.

  
  


When he opened them, the frog charm dangled in his direction, with raised edges under its otherwise smooth bottom. It… Almost looked like name, but he couldn’t make it out from where he stood.

  
  


He pointed at it. “Isn’t something on the bottom of the charm?”

  
  


His mother’s brow furrowed, but, thankfully, she listened to him. Without a moment’s hesitation, she yanked the charm off the spiral.

  
  


“It’s a name. Go figure.”

  
  


“You could use that to find the owner?”

  
  


“Yeah.” She kicked the blanket away, picking her purse from the mess. She slung it over her shoulder, the notebook and her phone at hand. “Sorry, but I’m heading out right now.”

  
  


Akechi stepped aside so she could exit the study. He watched her point at the fridge, and, finally, her smile reappeared.

  
  


“I dunno when I'll be back. Eat whenever you like.”

  
  


_That's nothing new._

  
  


The door shut tight, locking stuffy air in the house.

  
  


Akechi peered into the clamoured study. He sighed, at a loss of where to start. “It’s been awhile since she’s been so worked up.”

  
  


First - he guessed - tidy up her desk. Papers and books spread in disarray, the desk lamp on the brink of toppling off the side. Papers in one pile, secured by a paper weight. Books stacked on the other side, leave the notepad next to it with a gel pen. The rest of the pens and pencils gathered in a pencil holder. White-out always, _always_ on the right side, never the left. Her elbow could knock it over. Scoot the lamp back to the centre. Everything had a place and function.

  
  


Finished, he stepped back to look over his handiwork. The desk, methodically organised and clear. Just like his mother. One could argue her desk was something of a Utopia for her. The ideal position for the ideal tools, all within reach.

  
  


Behind him, the polar opposite. A worn couch pushed in a dim corner, accented by lacy, frilly pillows someone’s grandmother would embroider. A single greying blanket. Nightstand with more books and a notepad.

  
  


Akechi felt she slept more in here than her room, door locked up at night. No alarm clock, so she either woke up on her own time, or Akechi - at least in Sundays or the holidays, waking her up a little before noon.

  
  


Dedicated to her work. Constantly thinking of new ideas. Juggling finances with rare leisure. Did her mind ever cool down? When was the last time her strong eyes seemed gentle? Today - they weren’t frantic, but burning.

  
  


Burning, but shining, like she’d cry if she got any more frustrated. Would she, if Akechi never pointed the frog charm out?

 

He bit his lip. He shouldn’t wonder or imagine that. He knew only a handful of his mother’s expressions, but seeing others wouldn’t change anything.

  
  


…would it?

  
  


_I must be tired._ What sort of child wouldn’t be, after seeing a parent so stressed out?

  
  


His body felt heavy, weighed down by silence. So engrossed in tidying up the study he barely noticed the tedium in propping the pillows in a pleasant array, like something out a magazine. Lingering on the sight, he walked out and shut the door.

 


	5. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what's the deal w/ mothers anyway

Satoko Kasai.

  
  


A first name changing the last part of her first name and a surname made up on the spot.

  
  


And somehow that _worked._ She operated in the shadows as a mystery novelist, self-published, self-efficient. Everything revolving around her private life under lock and key. Not a single person aware of what “Satoko” looked like, so she could enjoy the luxuries of life whenever and wherever she pleased. Satomi Akechi did as she pleased.

  
  


Well, the luxuries she could afford, anyway. And anything that didn't require... referring to her family registry.

  
  


Not that she was the only person with that problem. Plenty of men and women shared her story. Even the ones sitting around at some children's park just a few blocks away from where she lived.

  
  


Seated in one of the benches: a tight-lipped woman, with a black bob cut, keeping a journal in her lap. A child sat next to her, swinging pale legs back and forth and admiring the park with wide purple eyes. The girl's mother looked up with stern grey eyes, and muttered something to the girl as soon as she spotted the novelist.

  
  


The child looked up, nodded, and slid off the bench, scurrying off to the swing set.

  
  


“She’s cute,” Satomi said. She sat next to the woman, mirroring her crossed legs and brushing hair from her shoulder. She unclipped the frog charm from the journal. “Did she get it for you?”

  
  


Sighing, the woman took off and wiped her glasses clean. Her hard stare sharpened. “Return it. Futaba worked hard on it.”

  
  


Satomi dropped the charm in the woman’s lap, but kept the notebook at her side. “You really need to lighten up, Wakaba.”

  
  


“And you,” Wakaba sighed, “need to stay out of my business.” She pulled a red notebook out her bag, and tossed it to Satomi without a word.

  
  


_There we go._

  
  


Satomi looked over the notebook - nothing wrong with it. Not that she pegged Wakaba the nosy or vandalism type. She wouldn’t be surprised if Wakaba never bothered to open it to begin with.

  
  


Unfortunately, Satomi couldn’t relate.

  
  


“You’ve really refined your findings since our last conversation.”

  
  


Wakaba tensed. “You have no business sticking your nose into that,” she hissed. She looked around the park, arms crossed and back straight. “Especially if you know what’s good for you.”

  
  


That wasn’t a threat. Just a fact. “The only use your research is to me is as inspiration. I’ve no interest stealing your work. And no interest applying it to my life.”

  
  


Not that she knew how to. She only skimmed over Wakaba’s notes. Cognitive psience. Changing people's hearts for the better or worse. It came straight from a fantasy movie disguised as science fiction. Neither genre Satomi cared for.

  
  


Wakaba eyed her notebook. “I suppose if you did care you would’ve gone out of your way to contact me long ago.”

  
  


Satomi didn’t reply. Wasn’t like she had the chance to be interested in Wakaba’s work anyway. Not to mention the hassle. And if she wanted the info that bad, she wouldn’t go for Wakaba herself.

She recalled the stink of aged white wine and melting candle wax. Her nose scrunched, betraying her lax smile.

  
  


She thought of a man that reminded her of summer - scalding, no class, and short-lived.

  
  


Something thin bent into her cheek. Wakaba held a dark green bookmark, laminated with a photo her Satomi and Goro on it. Elementary school enrollment.

  
  


She took the bookmark, flipping it over to the date scribbled on.

  
  


_How long ago was this?_

  
  


She knew it'd was elementary. She had vivid, concrete memories of that stage. She never thought it’d end. Especially the part of barely knowing what went through Goro’s head or-

  
  


She grimaced. “Wakaba.”

  
  


“What is it?”

“With our notebook exchange done, can I ask to speak to you again sometime soon?”

  
  


Wakaba hid her notebook in her purse and stood. She didn't look at Satomi, and instead called Futaba back to her. Her daughter scurried right to her legs, clinging to her hand with an adoring smile. One Wakaba returned just as warmly.

  
  


“If I agreed.” She turned back to Satomi, the smile gone as soon as it appeared. “Where?”

  
  


Satomi smiled, putting the bookmark away on a random page. “Well... how about that art museum?”

 


End file.
